


new york's santa

by hailingstars



Series: irondad bingo [10]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Baby Morgan Stark - Freeform, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Kid Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Teen Peter Parker, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Tony is Santa, Tony is literally Santa Claus, avengers live in the tower, infinity war didn't happen, this is ridiculous and I have no regrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:34:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21806719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hailingstars/pseuds/hailingstars
Summary: “Are you Santa?”Tony rolled his eyes. “You really think I have the time to be a glorified cosplayer?”“I didn’t even think you knew what a cosplayer was…” said Peter, trailing off. He shook his head, refusing to let his mind wander from the topic. “Where do you keep the reindeer? Can I meet them?”ORNew York City has it's own Santa, and Peter discovers it's Tony Stark, because of course it is.irondad bingo: holiday
Relationships: Ben Parker & May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: irondad bingo [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1369099
Comments: 67
Kudos: 461





	new york's santa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blondsak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blondsak/gifts), [seekrest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/seekrest/gifts), [frostysunflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frostysunflowers/gifts), [ArdenSkyeHolmes221](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArdenSkyeHolmes221/gifts).



> gifted to these four lovely people! this fandom wouldn't be as bright without you and my life would be dim without all the conversations we have!! 
> 
> here's the holiday fic, I hope everyone has a great season!! happy holidays!!

New York City didn’t always have a Santa.

Peter remembered a time when he was too little to reach over the counters and steal cookies. That hadn’t stopped him, though, because even back before he was sticky, he had still liked to climb.

He worked hard, dragging the step stool in the bathroom, the one he stood on to brush his teeth and wash his hands, all the way into the kitchen, grinning the entire way. He pushed it in front of the counter, stepped up, and reached his hand out. The tips of his fingers brushed against the plate, before he was caught around the belly by his Uncle Ben’s arm, carried out of the kitchen and into the living room where he was tossed down on the couch.

He giggled as he landed on the cushions, near where his Aunt May sat reading a book.

“Be careful with him, Ben,” said May, as she turned a page of her book. Peter looked at her, upside-down, from his position on the couch.

“He’s tougher than you think,” said Ben. He plopped down on the couch between May and Peter.

“Yeah,” said Peter, jumping back up into a sitting position, his wild brown hair falling into his eyes as he did. He extended his arm out, like he’d seen his hero do many times on TV. “I’m tough, like Iron Man.”

“I think you’re much tougher than Iron Man,” said May. She shut her book and set it on the coffee table in front of them. “And much more sensible.”

“True,” said Ben, with a laugh, then his face grew more serious. “Which is why, me and your aunt both, think it’s time we told you the truth about Santa, Pete…”

That was the day Ben and May explained to him that Santa Claus was make-believe. He wasn’t real. There wasn’t a magical place called the North Pole, there weren’t any reindeer out flying around in the sky. They explained it was his job to keep the story alive for his friends and the other kids in class, who probably still believed.

Back then he hadn’t thought it was fair that he had to be the first to realize magic wasn’t real, but now, Peter understood. Ben and May, infinite in their love and their wisdom, hadn’t wanted Peter to think he’d done something wrong when he woke up and saw just a few presents under the trees, when his friends would come to school and talk about getting a whole store.

Families like the Parkers weren’t rich enough to believe in fairy tales.

He’d drifted off to sleep that Christmas Eve, after two kisses on his forehead, a little sad, but loved, and still excited for Christmas morning.

He’d been the first to wake, like always, and when he’d wondered out into the living room where the Christmas tree stood strong, his eyes went wide in shock. There were presents under the tree. A mountain of presents, piled high, covered in bright, shiny wrapping paper and topped with bows.

And there was a bike. The exact one he wrote to Santa about. It was red and gold and had never once had training wheels on it. It had a bow, too.

Peter’s mouth hung open, but it was approximately thirty seconds until he could get any words to come out.

“AUNT MAY! UNCLE BEN! YOU WERE WRONG ABOUT SANTA!”

They were rising up from under the covers just as Peter rounded the corner, bolted into their bedroom and leapt up between them on their bed. He scrambled to stand upright, then jumped up and down, completely forgetting the conversation May had with him just last week about jumping on the furniture.

“Come on! Come on! You have to come see,” said Peter. “Santa bought us lots of presents.”

May and Ben exchanged looks of concern.

“Peter, honey,” said May, taking his hand, while he kept jumping up and down. “We talked about this. Santa – “

“-Just come on.”

Peter tugged his hand free, jumped off the bed, and ran out of the bedroom, giving his aunt and uncle no choice but to follow him into the living room.

“See? He is real.” Peter motioned at all the presents under the tree.

“Ben,” said May. “Who…? Someone broke into our apartment…”

Ben wasn’t paying attention. His eyes were fixed on a shiny envelope that had been placed on the tree. Gently, he pulled the envelope off and opened it, taking out a stack of twenties and a small notecard.

“… it’s signed Santa,” said Ben. He handed over the envelope with the money and notecard to May.

“This is enough for three months’ rent,” said May, shuffling through the stack of cash.

“Whoever it was, I hope they break in again.”

May smiled through her tears and elbowed her husband.

“Can I open these now or what?” asked Peter. He dove in only after giving his uncle’s okay in the form of a nod.

Peter got a lot of stuff that Christmas. Clothes, which his aunt and uncle were happy about, and toys, which he was happy about. His favorites included a chemistry set, a stack of Star Wars movies on DVD, his new bike and Legos. He loved the present he got from his aunt and uncle the most, an Iron Man action figure that shot blue bullets out of his hand.

He sat on the floor and played with it while Ben and May watched the news. As it turned out, all of New York City had received visits from Santa. A few people, who were out and about in the dead of night, got pictures of a sleigh with reindeer flying around in the sky.

“I wonder who it is…” said Ben, munching on Christmas cookies. “I wonder who’s doing all this.”

At the time, it’d seemed obvious to Peter. Santa, of course. But as the years passed by, Peter got too old to believe in magic, and he joined Ben in his speculation about the man underneath the Santa Hat. Christmas after Christmas, they wondered, they guessed, until Ben wasn’t around to do any wondering or guessing, and Peter and May were left to somehow survive Christmas without him, to wonder and guess without him and with the rest of the city, instead. 

All of New York City wanted to know Santa’s name, and the students at Midtown High were no exception.

“I’m going to set a trap,” said Flash, with clear venom and disgust in his voice, heard clearly even from a few tables over in the school cafeteria. “I’m going video him and expose him on my Instagram, then maybe the police or Spider-Man can put him in prison where he belongs.” 

Peter looked away from the table where Flash sat with a frown. It seemed odd, and a bit extreme, even for Flash, to have a personal vendetta against someone who just wanted to shower money and presents on the city.

“What’s Flash got against Santa?” he asked.

Michelle snorted from behind her book. “Last year he got a lump of coal and a book called Kindness for Dummies.”

Peter and Ned laughed, but quickly moved on to talking about their excitement about the new Star Wars movie. He didn’t be bothered with obsessing about who Santa was or wasn’t. It lost its charm once Ben died, and besides that, there was something in Peter that felt like he knew him already.

*

Peter stepped out of the elevator and into the common room of Avenger’s Tower, shaking snowflakes out of his hair and holding two cups of hot chocolate, one of which that was snatched out of his hand by an unregretful Sam Wilson.

“Thanks, Pete,” he told him. “I don’t care what Bucky says about you, you’re the best.”

“That’s not for you,” said Peter, carefully prying Sam’s claws off the cup and reclaiming it. “It’s for Mr. Stark.”

Peter took a glance around the common room. It was filled with Avengers, buzzing with Christmas music and chatter, but Mr. Stark was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?”

“Might as well let me have it,” said Sam. “You won’t be seeing much of Tony this time of year.”

“He’s right, Peter. Tony hates Christmas,” said Steve, from where he stood with Bucky, the both of them with cue sticks in hand.

“What?” He tried not to choke on the laugh stuck in his throat.

The idea was so childish, like something a villain in a storybook might say. Peter knew not everyone loved and celebrated Christmas, that the holidays were tough for many people, but hate it? Hate Christmas? Mr. Stark? The same Mr. Stark who insisted on blasting classic rock covers of old Christmas songs in the workshop since Black Friday?

Peter didn’t believe it. He couldn’t. It was illogical.

“It’s the same every year,” said Nat, who was lounging on the couch, her phone in hand. “Isolates himself. Won’t even help us with missions.”

Peter stood on his tippy toes, trying to look her in the eyes over the back of the couch. Something didn’t seem quite right, something didn’t add up, either that, or it… it lined up perfectly, actually. It clicked, right then, inside Peter’s brain, something that seemed so obvious it had to be true.

“You guys don’t think?”

“Don’t think what?”

“Tony’s Santa,” said Peter. Every Avenger in the common room stopped what they were doing and looked at him like he was stupid or delusional. “Come on, guys, billionaire, tech genius, pretends to be all grinchy so he can be alone and work on… well, Santa stuff.”

“Tony isn’t Santa, Peter,” Nat told him.

“You said it yourself,” said Sam, pointing his finger at him, then starting to walk away. “He’s more like the Grinch.”

“On a good day,” Bucky finished.

Peter gave them each a look, wondering if they were being intentionally dim, or if they knew the truth and were attempting to hide it from him. He shifted his head, pointing it towards the ceiling.

“Friday, tell Mr. Stark I’m here, please.”

Just a few seconds ticked by before Friday’s voice came back over the intercom, telling him to take the elevator up to the Stark Suite. He left the other Avengers happily, and without a word, leaving them to stew in their ignorance and lies.

*

The cries of Morgan Stark, mid-tantrum, assaulted Peter’s ears before the elevator stopped or opened its doors. He couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face, one he had to hid once the doors did open and he caught sight of Pepper carrying her back to her room, as she kicked, screamed, her tiny fists pumping into the air.

“What’s going on?” asked Peter, stepping into the kitchen and looking around. Mashed potatoes, peas and cut up chicken bits were all over the floor. Some of the mashed potatoes had made it into Mr. Stark’s hair.

“She wanted to have a food fight,” said Mr. Stark. “Pepper spoiled our fun.”

Peter laughed and pressed one of the hot chocolates into Mr. Stark’s chest, until he accepted it and took a hesitant sip. He watched him drink, with a question on his lips, burning to be asked out loud.

“This is actually good,” said Tony, examining the cup. He took another drink, and Peter couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you Santa?”

Tony spit out the hot chocolate, only contributing to his messy kitchen. “Am I what?”

“You know, the guy who dresses up in a red suit and has the reindeer and flies around, handing out bikes?”

“Kid – that’s the most ridiculous – “

“That isn’t a no,” said Peter, a grin splitting his face. He knew it was the truth, it made too much sense not to be true.

Tony rolled his eyes. “You really think I have the time to be a glorified cosplayer?”

“I didn’t even think you knew what a cosplayer was…” said Peter, trailing off. He shook his head, refusing to let his mind wander from the topic. “Where do you keep the reindeer? Can I meet them?” 

Tony sat the cup of hot chocolate down on the table, then gave him a hard look. Eventually the façade of stone crumbled, though, and he was letting out a sigh and wadding up his face and slinking off towards the elevator.

He slammed his thumb against the call button and turned his head back to look at Peter. “You coming or what?”

Peter yelped out in excitement, almost dropped his hot chocolate on the already messy kitchen floor. Instead, he put it down on the kitchen table with so much excitement, so much force, it toppled over and began slowly leaking out. Peter ignored it. The reindeer were waiting.

*

The elevator took them both to the depths of Avenger’s Tower, so far down, Peter expected they could into the Earth’s core any second. When, finally, the elevator came to a slow stop, and the doors slid open, Friday announced they were at the North Pole.

“Whoa,” said Peter, stepping off the elevator, and onto a shiny, sliver floor.

Looking around, Peter took it all in. He was standing in a warehouse, although it felt a little weird to call it that, as it was well decorated and filled with bright colors. Snowflakes fall from up above. They disappeared before they came anywhere close to hitting the floor, reminding Peter of the Great Hall in Harry Potter, and a giant Christmas tree stood tall, with a blue star shining bright on top of it.

Shelves filled with expertly wrapped presents stretched on and on, further than Peter could see with his eyes, and bots wearing elf hats scurried around on wheels, carrying stacks of gifts to their correct locations. There were other bots, also wearing elf hats, with four arms that moved quickly, wrapping boxes of toys with the precision only Tony Stark’s tech could pull off.

“This is amazing,” said Peter.

“Yeah,” said Mr. Stark. “I know.”

Peter continued scanning the room for the one thing he wanted to see the most. “Where’s the reindeer?”

Mr. Stark led him off to a side room where nine reindeer, nine reindeer _bots_ , were playing. The entire room was designed to look as if it were a stable, and off to the side, sat a shiny, red sleigh, ready and waiting for Christmas Eve night. Mr. Stark gave a whistle, and the deer stopped what they were doing, looked, then stampeded towards them with the excitement of a puppy greeting you after a long day away from home. 

Within seconds, Peter was surrounded by all nine reindeer, all nudging at him with their noses, wanting some pets, all ignoring Mr. Stark in favor of Peter, the new person.

“You all are traitors,” he told them.

Rudolph stomped his foot and barked angrily at him, before giving Peter’s hand another nuzzle.

“See why I didn’t introduce you sooner?” said Mr. Stark, who stood alone, without any reindeer attention. “You’re always stealing my thunder. Why do my bots always like you more than me?”

“I dunno, I’m not that one who made them that way,” said Peter, with a shrug, before he continued petting the mechanical reindeer. “I still don’t understand, Mr. Stark. It doesn’t make any sense. How do you fit all those presents on the sleigh? Do you make multiple trips? How do you even have _time_ to deliver to the whole city in one night? OH, do you – _did you invent time travel_?”

Peter stopped, took a deep breath, realizing he was doing his rambling thing. He was spitting off too many questions, and too fast, and most of the time people found that annoying, but the smirk on Mr. Stark’s face told him his mentor wasn’t most people.

“Presents don’t ever even go on the sleigh, kid,” said Mr. Stark, addressing his first question, and his first question only.

“Then how…?”

“The Wizards do their, yellow portally thing.”

“Oh,” said Peter. “So this is like an Avenger’s thing?”

“Yep, they’re my elves.”

Peter laughed at their expense. They deserved it, those liars.

“You go flying around on the sleigh just for fun?” asked Peter. He wouldn’t blame Tony if that were the case. The reindeer alone made it worth it.

“Gotta make it look convincing, don’t I?”

Mr. Stark explained the rest to him, while he further made friends with the reindeer. That the rest was computerized, ran with algorithm that collected, stored, and organized information scanned from the letters children (and in NYC, sometimes teens and adults) wrote to Santa. It automatically put in an online order from small retailers around the country, to both help local businesses and to keep people from tracing a bulk order from a giant retailer back to the Tower.

“Some families need a personal touch,” said Mr. Stark, talking about how sometimes he manually input information in the system. Flash’s book about kindness and his lump of coal came to Peter’s mind.

“You have to let me help out,” said Peter. “Please.”

“Will I survive the whining if I say no?”

“I doubt it,” said Peter. “Plus, the reindeer will never forgive you.”

Rudolph, Blitzen, and Prancer barked their agreements, Comet licked Peter’s face and Mr. Stark rolled his eyes.

“Fine you can help,” said Mr. Stark. He wagged his finger at Peter, before quickly withdrawing when Vixen tried to bite it off. “I expect you’re going to take this secret more seriously than you do your secret identity, got it? It’s a mystery to me how the city doesn’t know you’re Spider-Man yet.”

It was Peter’s turn to roll his eyes. He didn’t understand why Mr. Stark had so little faith in him. “Of course, Mr. Stark, I won’t tell anyone.”

*

Peter told May.

He didn’t _mean_ to tell her. The words just sort of slipped out of his mouth, without any permission from his brain, but to be completely honest, he wasn’t sure it was his fault, exactly. What else was he meant to do on Christmas Eve evening? When he and May sat down with their hot chocolate and continued the tradition Ben started, taking guesses at who the man under the hat was?

“It’s Mr. Stark,” he blurted out.

May laughed. “What?”

“Mr. Stark is Santa,” said Peter.

“Oh he is?” asked May. She laughed harder when she saw Peter’s face was serious. “Sorry, kiddo, I’m not falling for it.”

“But he –“ Peter started, then shook his head in frustration and pulled on May’s hand. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Twenty minutes later the two of them were stepping off the elevator and into the North Pole, and about two seconds after that Peter was shouted at by Mr. Stark.

“Parker, what the hell?” asked Mr. Stark, his voice annoyed, but hard to take seriously. Mr. Stark was wearing the beginnings of his Santa suit, bright red, silky pants and a white t-shirt under a red, silky jacket.

“Holy shit, it’s true,” said May.

Mr. Stark zeroed in Peter, trying his best to look intimidating as he could with a Santa hat hanging off his head. “I told you to keep it a secret.”

“Honestly Tony, if you wanted to keep it quiet you shouldn’t have told Peter,” said May. “We all know Peter is terrible at keeping secrets.”

“Hey! I’m not that bad.”

“I hate to tell you this, Pete,” said Pepper, as she joined the group, with Morgan hanging off her hip. Morgan stretched her arms out towards Peter, wanting her big brother as soon as she knew he was in the room. “But you’re awful at keeping secrets, and relax, Tony, May isn’t going to tell anyone.”

Mr. Stark and Pepper have no way of knowing the wave of grief that went through Peter, and probably, he guessed, his aunt, too. The only other person they wanted to tell wasn’t around anymore to hear it.

“Hey, Mo,” said Peter, taking her from Pepper. “Wanna show Aunt May the reindeer?”

“Yeah!” Morgan shouted. She had one volume. Loud. She pointed to the stable room. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

The three of them left Pepper and Mr. Stark, the latter of which was still mumbling under his breath grumpily. Peter supposed the other Avengers were right, in a way. The closer it got to Christmas, the more stressed Mr. Stark became, because he wanted everything to be perfect. He wanted the city to be filled with magic and wonder, even if it was only for a day.

Peter looked back at him before disappearing into the stables. He was rambling with Pepper about something else, a serious scowl on his face. That was Mr. Stark, a grumpy Santa, with a heart two sizes too big.

*

They were playing fetch with reindeer, taking turns throwing a bright red ball, while the reindeer took turns retrieving, when Mr. Stark strode into the stable room, looking a lot more like Santa Claus than he did Tony Stark. His suit was complete, his hat was on straight, he had a white beard and half-moon glasses and a dad belly.

He gave a special whistle, and the reindeer galloped into formation immediately, the red ball bounced on the floor where Dasher had dropped it. They stood, with Rudolph in the front, and waited for Mr. Stark to fastened them into their harnesses.

Mr. Stark threw a green jacket at Peter, who caught it with both ease and confusion.

“What’s this?”

“It’s your jacket,” said Mr. Stark. “I thought you wanted to come along.”

Peter never remembered asking Mr. Stark to ride along in the sleigh specially, but he wasn’t about to open his mouth and bring that up at the moment. He put on the jacket quickly, noticing that despite its lightweight, it was warm. _Too_ warm. Hot and stuffy, and making Peter wish he was already up in the sky and out in the cold.

Next Santa Stark threw a green hat with elf ears attached to the sides at him. Peter made no effort to catch, and it fell to the ground by his feet.

“I can’t wear that.”

“Uh, you have to wear that,” said Mr. Stark. “Unless you want pictures of yourself all over the news tomorrow, and headlines asking why Peter Parker from Queens is helping Santa Claus.”

Peter grumbled under his breath, snatched the ugly hat off the floor, then grumpily put it on, disgusted to find it was also a mask.

“Awww,” said May. “You’re so adorable as an elf.”

Before he could stop her, she snapped a picture of him with her phone, and Mr. Stark starting mumbling again. That time about how bad secret keeping must be a Parker trait as well as taking photos in a Top-Secret Avengers Facility. He snapped his jaw shut when May gave him that look, that look she often gave Peter to stop him from doing something stupid.

“Be careful,” said May, giving him a hug.

“Of course, May, I’m always careful.”

She didn’t seem convinced, but let Peter out of her hug, anyway, allowing him to help Mr. Stark put the harnesses around the reindeer. After that, they both climbed into the sleigh, and Mr. Stark took the reins.

“You really do look like Santa, Mr. Stark,” Peter told him, looking at him through the slits in the elf mask, tilting his head, examining every inch of the fluffy white beard. “You’re even starting to get some wrinkles.”

“Say that again,” said Mr. Stark. “And I’m tossing you off this sleigh when we fly over the Hudson.”

Peter chuckled under his elf mask, and Mr. Stark lifted the reins and brought them down, fast. The reindeer barked, and slowly, parts of the wall in front of the sleigh folded in on itself, revealing a tunnel with tracks and lights that slanted upwards.

“Friday, play the soundtrack,” said Mr. Stark.

Back in Black pumped through the built-in speaker, Mr. Stark lifted the reins once more, and then they were off, rushing forwards at a speed that made Peter’s back hit the metal behind him, made him grip the edges of the seat and wish he’d thought to bring his web-shooters.

*

*

*

Peter woke up, for the second time that Christmas morning, without being sure he’d ever fallen asleep.

His dreams were hadn’t felt like dreams, more like memories, his brain trying to relive over and over again slicing through the New York skyline in what could only be considered a deathtrap. If Mr. Stark hadn’t been controlling it, Peter might have been scared for his life, then again, if Mr. Stark hadn’t been controlling it, they probably wouldn’t have been blasting through the sky at terrifying speeds.

Mr. Stark knew how to put on a show.

He weaved through builds, dipped down low enough to wave to people on rooftops, people with cameras, and people who braved the cold just to catch a glimpse of Santa’s sleigh.

They disappeared from the city sometimes.

“I have to make it at least look like I’m going into homes,” Mr. Stark had told him, before directing the reindeer to fly over the ocean, where the stars in the sky were reflected down in the waves.

It’d been a great night, a memorable night, and not one Peter would ever forget. His dreams wouldn’t let him.

Peter sighed, and shifted around under his covers, turning over and taking a peak at the small mountain of presents next to his bed. The first time he woke up that morning was to open them, before promptly returning to his bedroom in Mr. Stark’s penthouse and drifting back off into a half-sleep, a world where he was still in the sky, on the sleigh, with Mr. Stark’s laughter in his ear.

He sat up, forced his feet on the floor, grabbed the throw blanket at the end of the bed, and put it around his shoulders like a cape, before leaving his room to see what the others were doing.

The penthouse was quiet. Not even Morgan wailed or shouted, and when Peter stepped into the living room, he found out why. She was fast asleep on the couch, still holding the favorite toy she’d unwrapped earlier that morning, a stuffed Spider-Man doll. Mr. Stark sat in a rocking chair by the fireplace, reading a book, and wearing a red plaid sweater.

Sure, he wasn’t dressed up as Santa anymore, but after seeing him in the suit and the beard, Peter didn’t know if he’d ever be able to separate the two again.

“Morning, Mr. Stark,” said Peter. He sat down on the couch gently, careful not to wake Morgan.

“Afternoon, actually,” Mr. Stark informed him. He closed his book and looked at Peter. “How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” said Peter, then laughed. “I just – I still can’t believe you’re really Santa.”

“Believe it, kid.”

“But why?” asked Peter. “You’re already so busy, you have Morgan, and you’ve saved this city thousands of times as Iron Man. It’s just – you sacrifice so much time into this.”

“Everyone should get to believe in something, Pete,” said Mr. Stark. “Even if it’s only for a day.”

Peter nodded, slowly, beginning to understand that the best part of Christmas wasn’t Santa bringing him a bike, but it was sitting at the table with May and Ben, having wild conversations and conspiracy theories about who was behind it all. Ben had come close once. He’d claimed it had to be an organization. Just never suspected it was the Avengers.

“You know,” said Peter. “The first year we had Santa, you got me this red and gold bike. It was my first without training wheels, and I fell off so many times, I had so many bruises, but Ben never gave up teaching me how to ride it.”

“Ben was a good man,” said Mr. Stark, and Peter was about to ask how he knew, some wild hope raising up inside him that maybe they had meet one day, but he didn’t need to speak his question out loud. Mr. Stark just knew. “I know because he raised a good man.”

Peter sniffed. “Thanks, Mr. Stark.”

“I remember that bike. I remember seeing it before it got portaled away.” 

Peter laughed, hard and intentional, to chase the tears away. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I wish I did.”

“I bet May has some pictures.”

“I’m gonna have to see those, kid,” said Mr. Stark. He straightened out in the rocking chair and cleared his throat. Peter imagined he was trying to clear all the feelings away. “Hungry? I think May and Happy are making breakfast for lunch down in the common room.”

“Starving,” said Peter. “That sounds great.”

Mr. Stark collected Morgan off the couch, and they journeyed downstairs where the smell of pancakes and eggs and maple syrup hit Peter immediately. Most of the Avengers were milling around, Happy and May were laughing together in the kitchen, and Pepper was there to greet them off the elevator, taking Morgan from Mr. Stark so he could go get some food.

It was a grand breakfast for lunch, and Peter, at least he hoped, the start of a new tradition.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! the kindness for dummies book for flash was frostysunflower's idea, because she's a genius and lmao imagine telling your child there's no santa only for iron man himself to bust down the door and prove you wrong anyways, happy holidays!! 
> 
> comments/kudos tell me what you think
> 
> [come shout at me on Tumblr](https://hailing-stars.tumblr.com)


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